


Lucky

by remedialpotions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Consensual Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Gambling, Post-Hogwarts, despite these tags this is very fluffy, the trio takes Las Vegas, this is only like quasi-serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remedialpotions/pseuds/remedialpotions
Summary: Las Vegas is infamous for being the home of countless bad decisions... but Ron and Hermione might just make the biggest - and best - decision of their lives. Rated for strong language and sexual content.





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 Trope Wizard Tournament on Tumblr.
> 
> I do want to mention a few things. 1, I’ve never been to Las Vegas and so I’ve employed what I’m calling “creative geography” for a few things and I hope you’ll forgive me (who usually obsessively googles thing) and roll with it. 2, the idea of Area 51 being Ilvermorny came from a tumblr post (that I’ve never been able to find again sadly) and I loved it and had to work it in. 3, this fic is very goofy and silly and I’ve had tons of fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy it too!

It had taken two Portkeys, but finally they landed with three abrupt thuds on the dry, hard-packed desert floor. To their south, a busy, bustling city glittered in the twilight, awaiting their arrival. As the world spun back into focus, the three of them struggled to fill their lungs among the arid cloud of dust that billowed around them. Ron stood first and brushed off his jeans before reaching out a hand to help Hermione to her feet. Harry, however, remained on the ground, rolling onto his back with a miserable groan.

“Are you okay?” asked Hermione, peering curiously down as he grimaced behind his glasses.

“I hate Portkeys,” he whined. “And I hate going to these stupid things.”

“All right, get up,” Ron laughed. “You’re fine.”

He swung out a foot and prodded Harry's thigh with his trainer-clad toe. His hand was still wrapped firmly around Hermione's, even though the intense heat had already made their palms sweaty.

With a gargantuan effort, Harry hauled himself to his feet and the three began their trek across the desert to the underground tunnel they had been told would bring them into the heart of the city. Clearly determined to be in a foul mood, Harry lagged behind Ron and Hermione, his glasses slipping down his nose from sweat.

“I don't understand why this conference is here, anyway,” Harry griped. “Isn't MACUSA located in New York?”

“Well, yes, but we're not far from Ilvermorny,” explained Hermione, “and I suppose they thought it would make for a nice change. And stop complaining,” she chided him, turning to face him, “this is part of your job.”

As she marched on toward their destination, Ron caught Harry's eye and grinned.

“So Ilvermorny’s nearby, huh?” Ron asked, glancing at Harry and winking discreetly.

“Yes,” Hermione replied with a touch of impatience. “It's made to look like a top secret military base that Muggles - the non-military ones, anyway - aren’t allowed to access, it's a brilliant disguise, really. Most American Muggles are too off-put by it to want to even go near.”

“So why does it matter that the conference is near there?” Ron continued. “We aren’t talking to the students.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Hermione let out an exasperated breath.

“It might surprise you, but I'm actually not in charge of the Worldwide Aurors Conference-”

“Shocking,” Harry muttered under his breath, earning himself a fiery glare.

Wrenching her hand out of Ron’s grasp, Hermione wiped her sweaty palm on the sleeve of Ron's t-shirt and strode purposefully ahead of the two men.

“Oh, come on,” Ron chuckled, his long legs quickly closing the distance between them. “Don’t listen to him, he’s being a prat today.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, but she just narrowed her eyes and kept walking.

“It’s just rubbish that Ginny couldn't come with us,” Harry piped up after a few quiet minutes.

“Oh, here we go,” Ron whispered to Hermione before turning to Harry. “She’s in the playoffs, mate, she can't miss that.”

“Yeah, I know, and I wish I could go to the match, but instead I'm here at this stupid conference for three whole days - oh, forget it, let's just get there and find some food.”

And on they continued to the tunnel that would take them from the Mojave Desert directly to the hidden wizarding hotel on the Las Vegas Strip. It was there that the Magical Congress of the United States of America would host the annual Worldwide Aurors Conference, to which Hermione had tagged along when Ron had whinged that none of them had ever gone on holiday together. Harry had been reluctant to call it that, especially now that Ginny could no longer join in the festivities, and Hermione knew his sour mood was only compounded by the fact that he would likely spend the next three days being congratulated for something he had accomplished two years ago.

The tunnel was not dissimilar to those connecting Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, and soon they ascended a narrow, rickety staircase and found themselves in the lobby of an ornately decorated hotel. After obtaining keys to their respective rooms, they agreed to drop off their luggage and meet again in the lobby to discuss dinner plans.

Unlike wizarding lodging in England, which was often rather rustic, ostentation was clearly the theme here in Las Vegas. The room that had been booked for Ron and Hermione contained a resplendent king-sized bed with a thick, fluffy duvet, a marble-floored bathroom with an enormous tub, along with a balcony that overlooked the Strip.

“I know it’s not perfect,” Ron said, gathering Hermione into his arms once they had settled into the room, “‘cause Harry’s with us, and I'm here for work, but I'm still going to count this as our first holiday together.”

“I am too,” Hermione admitted. She rested her cheek against his chest and let her eyes drift closed. “I'm knackered, I wish we could just stay in.”

Ron released her and sat down on the edge of the bed, bouncing experimentally.

“This is a really nice bed,” he commented with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “C’mere, test it out with me.”

When he beckoned to her, she couldn't help but seat herself beside him. The plush comforter and soft pillows were overwhelmingly inviting, and Hermione fell onto her back, sinking into the blankets.

“You know what, you're right,” Ron stated, lying down next to her. One hand fell onto her stomach as he rolled onto his side, kissing her cheek as he went. “Let's just stay in.”

Hermione turned her face and caught his lips with hers. They lingered together for a moment before Hermione sighed and inched back on the bed, pulling on Ron's upper arms so that he shifted on top of her. Just as she was threading her fingers through his hair, which was slightly damp from sweat, his stomach let out a noisy gurgle.

“We said we’d meet up with Harry,” Hermione reminded him with a laugh, dropping one last kiss on his lips and sitting up.

“Nah, I'm fine, let’s stay here-“

“It's nearly three in the morning where we’re from, we should just have dinner with Harry and go to sleep. You've got a lot to do tomorrow.”

“All right, but tomorrow we’re definitely testing out the bed.”

“Agreed.”

•••

The morning came far too quickly. Upon waking, Hermione felt she would be content to spend the rest of her natural life curled into Ron's side in the softest, warmest bed she had ever had the pleasure of occupying. The bed in their rented flat in London was all well and good - it was theirs, after all, which was more than enough - but this particular morning, she suspected it would probably take a meteor hitting the building before Hermione and Ron willingly vacated their cocoon of blankets.

Ron was still fast asleep, his breath falling from his lips in slow, rhythmic rasps as it always did when he laid on his back. Hermione, shifting onto her stomach, propped her chin on his bare chest and watched him. She had always thought it was a bit creepy in concept, watching one’s beloved sleep, but then she had fallen for Ron and it all made sense. Simply put, she was thankful for him, thankful he was here and alive and healthy and all of the other things that had seemed like far-flung dreams two years ago.

With the tip of one finger, she traced the outline of his lips and then touched over the copper stubble adorning his jawline. He would unfortunately have to shave before the conference began, even though she knew that he knew that she found it a bit sexy.

“Whatcha doin’?” came a sleepy, drawling voice. His eyelashes fluttered so that she could just barely catch a glimpse of his blue irises.

“Nothing,” she replied, crawling up his torso to touch their lips together. His mouth was so, so warm against hers, his movements slow and lazy, his hand creeping beneath her pyjama top and onto the small of her back.

“What time is it?” Ron murmured, his eyes still shut as though he was trying in vain to cling to the last vestiges of sleep.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the large clock on the wall. “Half seven.”

No,” he groaned. “Don’t wanna get up.”

He kissed her again, his hands now pushing her top up her sides. Hermione knew he had to be on time to the conference - he was the one giving the presentation on Concealment and Disguise, after all - but these types of languorous mornings together were so few and far between for them and his skin against hers felt so good that it was hard to worry about anything else.

“I love you,” he said against her lips, “so much.”

“I love you too,” Hermione sighed.

She backed away from him just enough to pull her top over her head, allowing their exposed chests to press together.

After two years together, Hermione would have expected herself to grow a bit more accustomed to Ron and his roaming hands and his expert tongue, but it was quite the contrary. She still found touching him, kissing him, being close just as thrilling as it had been during that first summer after the war. In some ways it was even more so, now that they weren't fumbling and nervous and constantly seeking reassurance that the other didn't hate what they were doing. It was a spark that Hermione never wanted to let fade.

Sometime later saw them tangled up together, sweaty and satisfied, Ron’s face nestled into the crook of Hermione’s neck.

“Ah, shit,” he said with a little laugh, rolling onto his side and letting his arm drape over her chest, hugging her close. “Reckon I’ve still got to go to this thing, haven’t I?”

“Yes, and if you don't start getting ready now you'll be late.”

“But it's better here with you,” Ron said, touching his lips to her shoulder. His eyes, which had previously been gleaming with mischief, grew serious. “Everything's better with you.”

“Go get ready,” Hermione instructed, her face flushed.

“But you're so warm,” he protested. Drawing her closer, he laid light kisses on her neck. “And soft…”

“Ron,” she sighed, even as she looped an arm around his back, “it's ten to eight.”

“Mhmm.”

He was trailing his mouth over her collarbone now as his fingers lightly grazed her breasts.

“You're meant to meet up with Harry in forty minutes.”

“That's plenty of time.”

“Ron…”

“All right, fine,” he relented, planting a kiss on her cheek. “I'm going.” He went to slide out of the bed, but only swung his legs over the side before turning to face her. “Unless you want to join me in the shower?”

She did, but she also wanted him to keep his job. “Go,” she said, “and I'll make tea.”

Indeed, Ron didn’t quite make it to the conference in a timely fashion - he was two minutes late meeting Harry in the lobby - but on the whole, Hermione felt the way they had spent the morning had been a fantastic use of their time. While Ron and Harry spent the day in discussions and lectures on proper interrogation techniques and the benefits and drawbacks of Disillusionment Charms, Hermione was content to explore the city. The wizarding area of Las Vegas was small, more so than that of London, but its library was filled with books by American wizards and kept her occupied for hours. She expected, however, that once the conference concluded for the day, that her companions might like to explore a bit of the more extravagant Muggle part of town. Ron had, after all, promised his father that he would try to figure out how slot machines worked.

They reconvened in the lobby of the wizarding hotel at a quarter past six, and Ron and Harry both looked as though their brains had been melted.

“How did your presentation go?” Hermione asked, standing on tiptoe to receive a quick kiss from Ron.

“It was good,” Ron shrugged. “About what I expected. Erm, but - Harry and I did some research during lunch.”

“You did?” Hermione asked, pleasantly surprised.

Neither Harry nor Ron had been particularly enthused about attending this conference in the first place, so she was happy to see them getting more involved.

“Yeah, and it turns out,” said Harry, “that if you even pretend to gamble in the casinos, they’ll give you free drinks.”

“Oh,” replied Hermione, dismayed.

“You thought we were talking about work research, did you?” Ron grinned. He ducked his head to kiss her again and laced their fingers together.

“Considering that's why you're here to begin with,” said Hermione loftily, “yes, I did.”

“I don't think she's been paying attention for the past nine years,” Harry muttered to Ron with a smirk. “Let's change into Muggle clothes and then we’ll get some food, yeah?”

Twenty minutes later, they were strolling down the bustling sidewalk in the direction of the Bellagio, dodging stumbling college-age men and groups of hen parties donning genitalia-themed costume jewelry.

“I have a couple of questions for the pair of you,” Hermione asked them as they approached the casino. Ron was to her right, his arm casually slung over her shoulders, and Harry ambled along on her left. “And my first is how you expect to gamble in a Muggle casino with wizarding Galleons.”

“I have Muggle money,” stated Harry.

“American Muggle money?”

“They’ve got everything at Gringotts,” he replied easily. “Next question.”

“Fine, then do you realize that none of us is old enough to drink alcohol in this country?”

“Really?” asked Ron, receiving a nod in response. “Well, I'm sure we can find a way around that.”

“And how exactly do you expect to do that?”

As they walked, Harry set forth a plan, though it mostly consisted of ‘walking in like we own the place’, and bluffing their way through everything else. But once they arrived, a bit of confidence did go a long way, because not a single staff member seemed to glance in their direction as they entered the vast, crowded casino. Ron, not nearly as accustomed to Muggle culture as his girlfriend or his best friend, was obviously trying his absolute best not to let his shock and awe show on his face, but he was his father's son and his excitement betrayed him. He made a beeline toward a long row of slot machines, half of which were occupied.

“So how _does_ it work, then?” he asked curiously, dropping one of the quarters Harry had lent him into the slot and pulling the lever. The reels began to spin, the brightly colored images blurring. “How does it know what to do?”

“Some sort of mechanism, I don't know,” replied Hermione.

Ron stepped to the side of the machine and placed his hands on top of it, studying the way it all fit together.

“Stop that,” Hermione hissed, tugging on his sleeve. “They’re going to think you’re trying to cheat.”

Unconcerned, Ron now relocated his grasp to her shoulders, looking her squarely, affectionately in the eye. “I love you, Hermione - but you worry too much.”

Three sharp, metallic clangs sounded from the slot machine, followed by a flurry of flashing lights and ringing bells. Hermione's head snapped over to see the reels had stopped, each boldly displaying the number seven.

“Ron,” she gasped, hand seizing his upper arm as the machine, still flashing and positively erupting with fanfare, began to print a slip of paper that he could use to redeem his winnings. “You’ve hit the jackpot.”

“Why, ‘cause I’ve got you?” he teased, oblivious to the spectacle issuing from the slot machine.

“Very charming,” she spat, snatching up the redemption slip, “but no, I mean you just won ten thousand dollars.”

“ _What_?!” Ron grabbed the bit of paper from her hands and began to read. “That - that can't be - how much is that in our money?”

Hermione was just thankful that his accent meant any eavesdroppers would think he referred to the exchange rate between American dollars and English pounds, not wizarding Galleons.

“A _lot_.”

Harry strolled up from around the corner, a rocks glass of amber liquid in his hand. “What's going on?”

Ashen-faced, Ron wordlessly handed him the slip of paper, watching as Harry's green eyes widened as he read.

“Oh, this night just got a lot more interesting.”

•••

It didn't take long for them to cash in the slip for a stack of neat, green dollar bills, which Hermione - despite Ron’s curiosity over this odd foreign currency - tucked away in her beaded bag for safekeeping. Though it was Muggle money, and Ron hadn't fully been listening to Hermione's explanation of the exchange rate, his head was spinning at the thought of owning such a massive sum of money. He had the distinct sense that Harry wanted them to drop a significant portion of it on a fancy dinner or expensive drinks - he was the boy, after all, who would have bought a solid gold cauldron had Hagrid not advised against it - but he saw things like a down payment on a home with Hermione, or a sparkling diamond ring on her finger. He had been tucking away what he could from his Auror salary with those very items in mind, but this windfall put him well ahead of schedule.

But he supposed could spare a bit to properly celebrate his stroke of good luck. It was, after all, his very first holiday with Hermione, even if Harry was with them and even if they had only come here for work. He felt he had to do the thing properly, and even nine thousand American dollars would still be quite a lot to bring home…

“So Hermione,” Harry laughed later that evening, his eyes glassy as he jabbed at the remains of the steak on his plate, “what was it you said about us not being able to drink here?”

With a lazy hand, he gestured to the empty bottles of champagne littering their table.

“Don't go broadcasting it,” Hermione admonished him, though she smiled all the same.

Things had snowballed a bit since they had sat down for dinner at a restaurant in the hotel. The concierge had recognized them as the winners of the jackpot and thus insisted on sending a bottle of rather expensive champagne to the table. Ron and Harry had eagerly accepted, and one bottle had escalated into three, though the men had done the lion’s share of the drinking.

“Let's get dessert,” Ron suggested, snaking his hand under the table to graze Hermione's thigh.

“No, I'm fine,” she replied.

This, to Ron, was unacceptable.

“Just get something, you know if you don't finish it, I will.” With that, he shoved the dessert menu toward her and then proceeded to peruse it over her shoulder. “Oh, they have cheesecake,” he observed with a note of excitement. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had that, is it good?”

“You’ve never eaten cheesecake?” Harry asked, plainly trying not to laugh and failing considerably. “How is that possible?”

“Because if it wasn't cooked by my mum or the-” he dropped his voice- “the elves at Hogwarts, then when would I have tried it?”

“You should get it,” Hermione said, “I’m certain you’ll like it.”

And so he did, and Hermione ordered what he would have chosen otherwise - a thick, fudgey slice of chocolate cake - on the very slim chance that the cheesecake didn't go over as planned. Ron suspected that she'd have a bite or two and then push the plate over to him to finish it off, but he didn’t much mind. All he wanted was to be able to treat her to something. It meant much more to him than it did to her that he was able to spend money without counting every single Knut. And as much as she was always telling him that the boy she had fallen for, of course, had been the one wearing ill-fitting secondhand clothing and dress robes from the eighteenth century, it still mattered to him.

“Lov’oo, ‘Er-my-nee,” Ron managed around a hearty mouthful of cheesecake as Harry and Hermione exchanged satisfied smiles. “Brilliant.”

“I love you too,” she chuckled, taking a slightly more restrained bite of her own cake.

“What else hasn't he eaten?” asked Harry, leaning his forearms on the table. “This is fun, this is like when I gave Teddy ice cream for the first time.”

“What am I, some sort of science experiment?”

“You are now,” laughed Harry, loosened by several flutes of champagne, as Ron rolled his eyes. “Tomorrow you’re trying sushi.”

“Can’t I just have more cheesecake instead?”

•••

The night air was cool and refreshing against Hermione's skin as the trio stepped outside for the first time in hours. It was only as she took a deep breath that she realized just how thoroughly the champagne had hit her, and she had imbibed less than half of what Ron and Harry had.

“Where to now?” asked Harry as they began to wander aimlessly down the crowded boulevard.

“Well, I suppose we should go back to our hotel, shouldn't we?” said Hermione. “You've still got more the conference tomorrow.”

“What?” Ron stopped in his tracks. “Hermione, come on, it's not every day that I win thousands of dollars and eat cheesecake for the first time, we’ve got to do _something_.”

Hermione looked up at his striking blue eyes, his hair mussed from the wind, the smattering of freckles across his nose.

“You're lucky you're cute,” she told him, which was not ordinarily anything she would have said in front of Harry without the champagne in her system.

Looking victorious, Ron bent down and kissed her, and Hermione found herself circling her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

“Oi!” Harry interrupted. “If you want to snog, you have a hotel room for that.”

Reluctantly, Hermione pulled her lips away from Ron's and shifted her hands down so that they curved around one of his. With a jerk of his head, Harry indicated for them all to start walking again.

“Let's see what's this way,” he suggested. “It's Las Vegas, I'm sure we’ll find something to do.”

Their first stop was at a stand to purchase alcoholic frozen drinks, which Hermione resolutely declined with the reasoning that someone had to stay at least moderately sober in order to get them safely back to their hotel. Sampling a sip of Ron’s, she couldn't determine whether she choked more on the excess sugar or the cheap alcohol, and with a grimace she passed the plastic cup back to him. From there, they found themselves at a hotel that kept a wildlife habitat on its grounds, complete with turtles and flamingos, and then Ron insisted on dragging them on a tour of a local chocolate factory. Muggle candy had always fascinated him, though Harry and Hermione maintained that wizarding confections were far more interesting.

“You're not drunk, are you?” Hermione asked Ron as he threw away his empty cup into a nearby bin.

“Nah,” he said with a shake of his head. “It takes a little more than that. Now, Potter over here, on the other hand…”

Harry, indeed, sported a wobbly smile, glazed eyes, and bright red lips from the syrup in the drink as he gazed up at a fake volcanic eruption.

“Maybe we should bring him home,” said Hermione, and Ron nodded his agreement. “Harry, we’re going back to the hotel.”

“All right,” he replied easily, falling into step with them as they continued on in the direction of the wizarding district.

They had just barely crossed the street, however, when they were nearly bowled over by a laughing couple stumbling out of a small white building. They all turned to look at where the couple had emerged from and found themselves facing a little white chapel, which bore a banner advertising weddings for as low as $179 draped across the front.

“Hermione,” said Ron thoughtfully, gripping her fingers a bit more tightly. “Let's get married.”

“Oh, very funny,” she scoffed, attempting to continue down the sidewalk but finding herself stopped in her tracks, for Ron was still staring at the chapel.

“I'm not joking,” he stated, and the sincerity in his voice caught Harry's attention as well. “I want to marry you.”

“We can't get married here,” Hermione said in an attempt at being reasonable. “I think you are a bit legless.”

“I'm not,” he responded. “And why exactly can't we get married here?”

“Well…” To her astonishment, Hermione’s racing mind could not dredge up a single valid argument. “It's just not proper.”

“Not proper?” Ron laughed. “You do plenty of things that aren't proper, most of them are with me. We did some ‘not proper’ things this morning, if I recall correctly-”

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed, trying her best not to laugh along with him.

“No wonder you were late,” Harry muttered, picking up a flyer for the chapel off the ground and perusing it. “It says here you can get married by Elvis Presley if you want.”

“Who’s Elvis Presley?” Ron asked absently before reverting his attention back to Hermione, who was now pensively nibbling her lower lip. “Haven't you always said you don't want a big production made of your wedding?”

“Yes, that's true…”

It had always seemed to her that people put far too much effort in planning the perfect wedding day when their true focus should be on having a happy marriage.

“They’ll even take pictures for you of the ceremony,” Harry read. “I mean, they'll be Muggle pictures, but still.”

“So let’s say we do get married,” Hermione said to Ron, who had a huge smile stretching over his face. “Then what?”

“Then we go back to London, where we already have a flat that we both live in, and we spend the rest of our lives together. It’s quite simple.”

“We’re only twenty,” Hermione pointed out, hardly believing in her own argument. After everything they had gone through as teenagers, she felt far older than her years.

“Oh, look, if you get the ‘high roller’ package, they’ll give you a mug with your photo and the date on it,” Harry observed aloud, sounding excited by that prospect, though neither Ron nor Hermione paid him any mind.

“Yeah, I know,” Ron shrugged, “but I've been saving for a ring for you since we were eighteen.”

“Y - you have?”

“Well, yeah,” Ron said as though it should have been no surprise. “Pretty much ever since, you know, the war ended, I just - I knew you were it for me, so I reckoned I should just-”

“Okay,” Hermione breathed, unable to quell the smile stretching her lips. “Let’s do it.”

“Really?!”

“Yes,” she declared. “You're it for me too, so there's not much else I need to think about.”

Some of her best decisions, Hermione realized as Ron gawked at her in amazement, were the times when she let her heart rule over her head. Those instances, like dropping out of school to help Harry defeat Voldemort or running full-pelt into Ron's arms when a castle was literally crumbling around them, had shown her that logic and reason and being sensible didn't always have to prevail.

“Wait, I have to-” Ron dropped to bended knee in front of her and took her hand in both of his. “Hermione Granger, will you marry me?”

Tipping her head back, Hermione began to giggle. “I think I just answered you-“

“ _Hermione Granger_ ,” Ron repeated pointedly. “Will you please marry me?”

“Yes!” she said, laughing through her exasperation as he jumped up and hugged her so exuberantly that she was boosted off her feet.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Harry interjected, now alarmed, “you're not actually - I thought this was all just jokes-“

His words fell on deaf ears, as Ron and Hermione were now exchanging warm, wet, excited kisses in the middle of the bustling pavement.

“Oi!” Harry tried again, causing them to break apart.

Ron turned to face Harry, his expression one of pure annoyance. “What do you want?”

“You're not seriously getting married tonight, are you?”

“Yeah, we are,” Ron said, and turned back to resume kissing Hermione.

“No, you can't, Ginny will be furious that she missed your wedding,” Harry said, now sounding in a bit of a panic, “and I don't even want to know what your mum will do, I think she'd actually kill me.”

“Nah, she won't,” said Ron. “And my parents eloped themselves, anyway, so they can't even get that mad about it.”

“But this will somehow end up being my fault,” Harry fretted. “They’ll say I shouldn't have let you-”

“So let the record show that you tried and we didn't listen,” Hermione stated. “Now come on, we need you to be our witness.”

Grabbing Harry's wrist, she started to drag both of them toward the chapel, though Ron needed no coaxing. As it was a weeknight, the chapel was not terribly crowded as they entered, and Ron marched eagerly up to the front desk.

“Hi there, one wedding, please,” he requested as though he were ordering a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks.

“Okay,” said the young woman seated behind the desk, unaffected by Ron's enthusiasm as she handed them a slip of paper and a pen. “Fill this out for your marriage license and then you can wait over there-” she pointed to a row of folding chairs “-for your turn.”

“Right.”

Hermione took the pen and began to fill in Ron's information in the section designated for the groom. Her stomach was filled with butterflies at the thought that she was going to marry him, now, tonight, after so many years of thinking that a life with him was nothing more than a pipe dream. It didn't feel impulsive, even if the decision had been made mere minutes ago, because she had known she wanted to marry him for ages. They both had always believed that it would happen eventually; it was the sort of thing they had discussed on her holidays home from Hogwarts when she would sneak into his attic bedroom, whispers of _someday_ and _forever_ permeating the air.

And now it was happening. As Ron wandered away to peruse a display case of rings for purchase, Hermione filled in the basic information about Ron's parents and then moved on to the section regarding the bride. It felt administrative, almost, writing in her full name, her date of birth, and her city of residence.

“Hermione, come look at these,” Ron called to her. “I want to pick out something you’ll like.”

“One second,” she replied, moving down to fill in her own parents’ names. _Simon Granger_ , she penned onto the paper. _Mary Granger_. But they hadn’t always been Simon and Mary; for a period of about eleven months, they had been Monica and Wendell Wilkins, and a hot wave of guilt surged over Hermione as she returned the form to the woman at the desk and went to join Ron.

From within the case, gold and silver bands of all shapes and sizes, some adorned with precious jewels, glittered up at them.

“What d’you reckon, gold or silver?” Ron asked. Across the room, Harry, looking queasy, slumped into a chair.

“Er…” Hermione studied the wedding rings before her. “I'm not sure, both are nice.”

“Well, what do you like better? I'll get you whatever you want.”

Ron, she could tell, had relished in being able to say those words.

Hermione looked him over; with his fair complexion, gold likely wouldn't suit him. “Silver, I suppose.”

“Silver it is.” He shifted down along the case to the women's rings. “Oh, this one has sapphires in it, that's your birthstone, innit?”

“Yes, it is.”

The butterflies in her stomach had died, replaced now by a persistent churning that had been born when her parents’ names had been inked onto the marriage license.

“Do you like this one?” he said, pointing to a ring at the back of the display. It had a large circular diamond nestled between two smaller ones, with even tinier diamonds paving the entire band.

“That one looks expensive.”

“But we can afford it now,” Ron reminded her gently. “Well, pick out whichever one you want, love.”

“Okay,” she nodded.

Her stomach had twisted itself into a knot; what was wrong with her? She wanted to marry Ron and give birth to little redheaded babies and look after each other when they were old and grey. “Ron?”

“Hmm?”

“My parents aren't here.”

“I know, neither are mine.” He was still peering into the display. “Do you like the square ones or the circular ones better? Oh, that one’s shaped like a pear, that's a bit odd.”

“Ron,” she said again, grabbing his attention. “I love you, you have to know that. I want this with you so much, but… but I’m not sure we can do this today.”

His face drained of color; over in the waiting area, Harry had become increasingly intrigued by a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I want to marry you, of course I do, but I want my mum and dad there - and I think deep down you want yours there too.”

Anxiously she watched his face for signs that he believed her, that he wasn't taking this as an indication that she was planning to chuck him and run away with a certain Bulgarian Quidditch star.

“Mostly I just want to be married to you,” said Ron with a tenderness that made Hermione move closer and take his hands.

“I know, but I think they'd be devastated to miss it and I - I've had to shut my parents out of a lot of things in my life, I don't want to shut them out of this too.”

Slowly, Ron nodded, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth.

“I want to stay engaged, though,” he said quietly. “I meant what I said before.”

“So do I.” Hermione tilted her face up to his to accept a light kiss on the lips. “Hey, Harry?”

“Oh, God, what now?” Harry groaned from his chair. “You're adopting triplets?”

“We’re leaving,” Ron said, kissing Hermione's forehead as Harry hauled himself up.

The three of them hurried out of the chapel, apologizing hastily to the woman at the front desk as they left. From there, it didn't take long for them to find a secluded space from which they could Apparate back to their hotel. After planning a time to meet up with Harry in the morning, Ron pulled Hermione into their room and locked the door.

“Tomorrow,” said Ron, his hands on her hips, “after the conference, I want to buy you a ring. A proper one. And I won't hear any objections,” he said firmly, “because you deserve it and I want to and I can definitely afford it now.”

“All right, but nothing too fancy.”

“All right,” he agreed, “it can be whatever you want. I just want you to be happy, I - that's all I ever want to do, is make you happy.”

“You know,” said Hermione, standing close to him so that their torsos pressed together, “the bathtub in there looks like it has more than enough room for two people.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, but we should probably test it out.”

Allowing herself a devilish grin that she only ever revealed with Ron, she led him by the wrist into the spacious bathroom. Similar to the prefects’ bathroom in Hogwarts, this tub had several different taps, each issuing a different type of bubble bath. Hermione started the flow of water into the tub and then reached behind her back to access the zipper on her dress.

“I'll do it,” Ron said softly, his large hands gentle on her back as he slowly loosened the fabric and let it drop to pool at her feet. Her bra and knickers were made from the same lacy white material - rather bridal, Hermione thought, and quite fitting considering how the night had transpired. Leaning in to kiss him, Hermione tugged his shirt out of his trousers and over his head, trailing her fingers down his lean chest. Together they stood, exchanging deep, heady kisses as garments dropped to the floor and the tub slowly filled with water and thick white bubbles.

Ron's fingers dipped into the waistband of her knickers, sliding through neat dark curls to find silken flesh between her legs. As he rubbed against her, he laid a path of eager kisses down her neck and across the top of her chest before taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Mmm, Ron,” Hermione sighed, angling her hips so that his finger dipped inside her, “why don't we…”

“Shag now, bath later?” he suggested.

“Yes,” she nodded, though she might have summed it up a bit more eloquently.

Turning off the tap so the tub wouldn't overflow, Hermione extracted herself from Ron's grasp and they hurried to the bed, falling clumsily upon it as Ron picked up where he left off, his tongue sneaking over her taut nipples. As her fingers dove into his hair, his mouth drifted down her stomach and between her legs, kissing her through the damp, lacy fabric. The sensation was both overwhelming and not nearly enough for Hermione, so she hooked her thumbs underneath the thin scrap of lace by her hip bones and wiggled out of her knickers. Ron ran his tongue along the crease where her thigh met her hip, drawing out a ragged sigh before his mouth finally closed onto her center.

“Ooh, God,” she moaned, feeling a jolt of electricity course through her body when he flicked his tongue over the little nub between her legs. “Ron…” Two fingers slipped inside her, pumping methodically in and out. “Ron, I…” Her legs were beginning to tremble with the force of the sensations emanating from her throbbing center. Ron reached up with his free hand and smoothed it over one of her breasts, rolling her tightened nipple between two fingers. Hermione's legs gyrated wildly atop the duvet, her feet almost kicking him as her walls clamped down firmly on his fingers and her moans and sighs turned into a strangled cry.

When Ron was sure she had recovered, he kissed the inside of her thigh one last time and then sat up on his knees, licking his lips to take in the taste of her. Her chest was still heaving with deep, uneven breaths and her eyes were heavy-lidded, but she beckoned to him with a lazy hand. Immediately he went to her, covering her small frame with his own as her knees raised up to either side of him.

“I love you,” she whispered as she pressed her lips against his neck and shoulder. “I love you so much.”

Ron ran his hand down her torso and grasped her hip, holding himself up on his other palm. “I love you,” he groaned into her skin, chancing a kiss on her lips and finding that she eagerly accepted it. She slanted her hips toward him so that his tip slid just inside her hot, slick folds. With each motion of his mouth against hers, he sank deeper inside, unable to avoid biting on her lip at the sensation of her tight heat surrounding him.

“Come closer,” she requested in a gasp, and Ron instantly closed the gap between their bare bodies so that their chests were flush against each other. Hermione ran her fingers down his back, closing her eyes and letting herself get lost in the moment. Ron, the man she loved more than anything in the world, had asked her to marry him tonight, and she had said yes, and now she had a lifetime of moments just like this one to look forward to. Any of the arguments that had briefly come to mind when he'd first suggested they go into the chapel - that they were young, that their careers were still getting off the ground - were no match for the simple fact that they were designed for each other.

Digging her heels into the back of his thighs and threading her fingers through his hair, Hermione lifted her head from the bed and caught his lips with hers again. Though she could taste herself on his tongue, it barely registered against her all-consuming desire to be as connected to him as possible. Even the most intimate regions of their bodies joining up wasn't enough; she wanted to kiss him, feel his skin under her hands, his weight pinning her to the mattress. Abandoning his hair, she ran her hands down his back until she grasped two handfuls of his bum, pushing him deeper inside. He thrusted ever more eagerly into her, mumbling her name against her lips. Her skin was starting to tingle again, the sharp breaths emitting from her throat evolving into whimpers-

“Ahh!” Ron suddenly yelped, causing Hermione's eyes to fly open.

“What, what happened?” she asked, alarmed when his thrusts paused.

“You scratched me,” he chuckled, “really hard, it's okay though.”

“Oh! I'm sorry!” Hermione said, instantly relocating her hands to the small of his back though their linked bodies shook with laughter. “I'm sorry, it was just getting…” Ron started to rock into her again and a faint buzzing developed again, just under her skin. “Really… really good…”

“Yeah,” he gasped, picking up the pace again. “Oh, fuck, Hermione, I'm gonna…”

“I want you to,” she panted, arching her back into him. “I'm really close.”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he grunted, bucking erratically into her. His release triggered the start of hers and her fingers dug into his back as she groaned into his ear.

Ron collapsed on top of her, her arms encircling his torso as each tried to collect their breath. He was still plunged deep inside her, but neither had any interest in moving just yet. His lips landed sloppy kisses onto her neck as she let her hands roam south again.

“Careful,” Ron whispered, lips curling into a smile.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione said, “but you should really take it as a compliment.”

“Oh, I have, believe me.”

Hermione's hands slipped back down to his bum, only to be met with a cool, sticky liquid.

“Ron, you’re bleeding!” she cried, pushing him away so he withdrew. “Oh, I'm so sorry! Get up, I'm sure I brought some dittany…”

Still fully naked, Hermione scrambled off the bed and began to fish through her beaded bag. Upon finding a small brown bottle and some tissue, she pulled Ron to his feet and dabbed at the small wound on his backside until it hissed and healed, now looking several days old.

“Oh, I can't wait to marry you,” he mused with a grin. “If this is what I get for the next, what, eighty years, that will definitely work for me.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hermione smiled. “You know, that bath is still waiting for us…”

The tub was charmed to keep the water hot at all times, so they slid under the bubbles, legs extended, with their backs against opposite ends of the tub. It was large enough that Ron's feet extended only to the middle of Hermione's thighs.

“This has been the craziest day,” Ron commented. “Between winning all that money-”

“I forgot all about the money,” Hermione realized.

“What? How did you forget about it?”

“I was too busy getting engaged, I suppose,” she said with an almost-giddy smile.

He beamed fondly back at her, finding her hands beneath the layer of bubbles and giving them a squeeze. “You were right before, at the chapel,” he said. “It would have been a bit mad to do it then, but… I can’t wait to be married to you.”

Hermione thought her face might split open from the force of her smile. “Neither can I.”

“And I can't believe you clawed at me so hard that you made me bleed - was it that good?” he asked with a lascivious wiggle of his eyebrows.

She flushed, and not from the warmth of the water. “I think you know it was.”

At that, Ron leaned forward, the water sloshing a bit, and touched his lips to hers. “C’mere, you, you're too far away right now.”

Hermione situated herself in the tub so that she was lying with her back against Ron's chest.

“So what are we going to tell people when they ask how we got engaged?”

“The truth,” said Ron. “Everyone already thinks we’re barking, we may as well let them go on believing it.” He folded his arms over her chest and kissed her cheek. “Or, once you've got your ring, we can come up with some story about how I got down on one knee and told you how I've been madly in love with you since the day we met-”

“You thought I was a nightmare,” Hermione reminded him.

“Details.” Ron ran a hand along her upper arm. “But we should probably just tell them what really happened. Harry's bound to rat us out eventually.”

“That's true,” Hermione had to admit. She turned her head to meet their lips once more and for a few minutes they stayed locked together, relishing in the simplicity of the moment.

“So tomorrow,” Ron said when they had broken apart. “Ring shopping, then more cheesecake, right?”

Hermione laughed and bounced another kiss off his lips. “Sounds perfect.”


End file.
